My First Kate Spade
by The Devil Wears Miu Miu
Summary: Characters from the Devil Wears Prada universe remember their first Kate Spade handbag. Miranda and Andrea fall in love... In loving memory of a designer, businesswoman and female pioneer. You poured your heart into your fashion and we'll carry it along with our bags.
1. Chapter 1

My first Kate Spade was lavender. Katy brought it to the townhouse along with banana ice cream while I was expecting the girls. She knew I would never join her for a sweet treat unless pregnant and took advantage of the fact. She was funny like that.

She brought 3 bags for me to choose from – one white, one lavender and one orange. The last one she brought as a joke. She knew that I would never be caught dead with an orange handbag on my arm, though they did suit her. All the quirky and colorful items, which she thought up in that wondrous little head of hers, did.

She also always knew exactly where to draw the line; she never went overboard. That is the why she was so unique. In fashion, there are those who are more crazy than elegant and then there are those, who are more elegant than they are crazy – even though in this industry, you always need to have a bit of both. But Katy was special in that she was equal parts crazy and elegant in everything she wore, designed or approved.

My lavender Kate Spade is the only fashion item from the 90s that I still own. It is also the only item, except for my Chanel suits – you can never go wrong with a Chanel suit – that I would _still_ wear. It is the only thing I might wear again, as those 90s Chanel suits may not exactly fit anymore, despite the fact that I most certainly never indulged in banana ice cream again.

I chose the lavender, and even though I did not go right out and told Katy she was a genius, I did indeed think that she was. I am an editor, I edit, I do not invent. I have rarely designed anything, even though I know that I could. But my interest has always concerned the bigger picture, along with the world of publishing, through which I move like a gazelle or a theatre actress – take your pick. I sort through the jungle of trends, new cuts and old styles, I take acceptable items and put them together in such a way that the magazine looks beautiful, classy, provocative and timely every month.

I make trends and let them disappear. Katy captured the lifestyle of a generation – one that was young or middle-aged during the 90s – and of every single one that has followed since. If I am fashion, she IS handbags. There is hardly any bag on the market today that has not in some way – minor or big – been influenced by Kate Spade.

I enjoyed my lavender, its smooth surface, its clean-cut handles and sweet color. I would buy and receive many Kate Spades thereafter but my first remains my favorite. Well, at least there is one first in my life that has made it to favorite. Isn't that something?

Fashion editor and bitch in heels, even I am not averse to saying that sometimes the personal beats anything else and it is because Katy brought me the bag along with banana ice cream, which we ate through a hundred giggles, while I was pregnant with my girls that it is my favorite.

There was a time in New York when no day would go by without seeing Katy's bags on the arms of society wives walking 5th avenue, on female executives – those bright spots in a sea of dark suits – and next to college girls at Starbucks. I could not have been more proud, for not only were they everything I look for in fashion – beautiful, suitable and endorphin-inducing – but Katy was also the best friend one could have in the fashion and business world. And there is not a lot of those; needless to say that I could count mine on one hand.

I first met Katy at New York Fashion Week when she was Accessories Editor at _Mademoiselle_ and I was – yes, you have guessed correctly – already editor-in-chief of _Runway_. Despite the fact that she was working for a rival magazine and could have easily become the editor-in-chief of _Mademoiselle_ one day, had she wanted to, I never quite kept my guard up with her. I am always careful but Katy's sense of humor was unpretentious and disarming. I had already fought my way up and I had not do so without learning to see through people. I knew when to keep my mask up – always – and when I could occasionally let it fall.

There was nothing to fear around Katy for she would, candidly and interspersed with jokes at her own expense, tell you all about her life. However, she was never gossipy or indiscrete. I genuinely enjoyed her company. Over brunch or coffee on Saturday afternoons, when I would make time to see one of my few girlfriends, she'd make me laugh so hard that a smile stuck to my face all the way back to the townhouse and into bed at night.

She told me that she wondered about where she wanted to go from there. She was incredibly good at her job but from departmental editor you went to artistic director and from there – if you had it all and gave it all – to editor-in-chief. But that path was of no interest to her and so she ultimately created something new. Something that was the ultimate epitome of her bubbly, funny, classy personality. A lavender Kate Spade, a white Kate Spade, an orange Kate Spade, a fuchsia Kate Spade, a seafoam Kate Spade… you get the picture.

These were more than just bags, they _were_ her and she was the girl who would be loved everywhere from St. Louis to New York and Los Angeles to Atlanta. It was then that I finally understood something, despite having spent many years in the United States already and priding myself on knowing what the All-American girl will want next year before she even knows it herself. I was born in the United Kingdom, where women are revered for quiet elegance. I went on to Paris, where women are loved because their beauty seems effortless. The American woman, I saw now, is adored because she gives it her all, because she is outrageously funny and never shuts up.


	2. Chapter 2

My first Kate Spade was plum. After I had left _Runway_ for _The New Yorker_ , I was busy finding my way around my new job and pretending I wasn't crying my eyes out every night after work. I told no one about what was in my heart, not even my best friend Doug because even though he had always been supportive of me, I was scared that even he wouldn't be able to wrap his mind around the fact that I had fallen in love with a woman twice my age.

It was the Saturday after my first literature- and tear-filled week at _The New Yorker_ that I received the Kate Spade. A messenger brought it up to my tiny Queens apartment and while I was curious, I wasn't entirely surprised. I had worked in fashion for 2 years after all and it wasn't without the realm of possibility that someone didn't yet know about my leaving or was even sending me a little thank-you gift for having worked well together throughout the past 2 years. The people at Calvin maybe or Hermès… but the box said Kate Spade and had that adorably tiny spade above her name.

When I opened the box, I immediately fell in love. It was a tote bag, so I could actually use it for work and just a lovely shade of purple. It suited my dark hair, as Nigel would have pointed out, and the simple black Chanel sheath dress that I had been wearing a lot because it was both a lovely fashion item and appropriate for a place like _The New Yorker,_ where you can be fashionable but have to be aware that you are not walking down a runway.

It was the kind of bag that you could wear both as a shoulder crossbody (though having learnt from the best, I would only have it tangling from one shoulder) or carry by its two additional handles. It was gorgeous and held a short note: _Andrea – I have always thought that if there is any fashion house that fits your personality perfectly, it would be Kate Spade. - M.P._

I felt a rush go through me at those words but mostly at the initials beneath them. Miranda, Miranda. Miranda Priestly. I didn't think there was a prettier name in the world than hers. And while initials weren't normally something I would get excited about, hers on that little piece of paper seemed to me like just about the cutest thing I had ever seen. I wanted to jump up and down, do a little dance around the kitchen and tell someone!

Tell them what? Not necessarily that Miranda had sent me a handbag accompanied by an adorable note and about what that may or may not mean. No, I felt like I was going to burst if I couldn't tell someone how much I adored the woman. How deeply and irrevocably I was in love with her – in a way in which I had never been in love with anyone. In that way that can make you crazy or destroy you because it has been made for a lifetime and if it doesn't get to express itself, your lifetime might just be doomed where love is concerned. Because there can be no one else.

And I had tried, oh, how I had tried. During those moments when the fanciful, dreamlike landscape in which I spent most of the past 2 years was gone, I would realize it. Realize that Miranda could and would never love me because while intelligent and pretty, I could never be exciting enough. Because Miranda must be heterosexual, as illustrated by her two previous marriages to men and the fact that the majority of all women were indeed heterosexual. Why would Miranda be any different just because _I_ had fallen in love with her. I had never wanted to become _that_ lesbian – the one that spends her time moping and tricking herself into believing that the beautiful and fascinating woman that she has fallen in love with, could be in love with her too.

Lesbians like that always end up heartbroken. They either end up alone and disillusioned or alone and crazy, their heads full of love that they imagine they have but never will. I've often thought that all of us perhaps start out that way, with a crush on our married English teacher or childhood best friend. That's fine. It is sweet and difficult, lovely and heartbreaking and it tastes like sugar and flowery perfume.

If, however, the love of your life turns out that way, it tastes like the heady and musky perfume of Miranda Priestly. Like the roses and cinnamon that have been mixed with things my nose cannot discern at Givenchy's laboratory for signature clients. Like the taste of her skin which I can only imagine, the skin I'd lick along her neck, behind her ear and on her sternum until I'd come from that alone. The skin one of her off-the-shoulder sweaters would reveal, without taking any clothing off.

You can see the state of mind I was in when I received my first Kate Spade. I was sad and aroused and happy and afraid. But. It had to be some sort of sign. Miranda didn't do anything without a reason and she didn't do anything she didn't _want_ to do. Full with the courage that lust can bring, I sent a text to her personal number, which I had saved three times on my phone and written on 5 separate pieces of paper around my apartment. _Miranda, thank you so much for the lovely Kate Spade. It is beautiful and I will be happy to carry it, thinking of you. – Andrea_

The Kate Spade was the first of three gifts Miranda sent me before inviting me to spend an afternoon with her at the MoMA's latest exhibition. The second was Elizabeth Bishop's _Collected Poems_ and the third were fuchsia Kate Spade flats. The invitation to the exhibition came in the box with the shoes and when she waited for me in the museum's entrance hall, she wore silver kitten heels by the same brand. She stretched out her hand and I gave her mine as if it was the most natural thing in the world, even though I had never fully touched her hand before, let alone held it. She pulled me in and looked at me. I must have looked at her like a lovestruck teenager with a too-big smile and almost-bedroom-eyes. She leaned up and kissed my cheek. _Andrea,_ she said. _It's a pleasure to see you._

I did not go home with her that night. She isn't like that and with anyone other than her, I wouldn't be either. I'd already loved her for two years, so it's not like it would have felt rushed. But she took her time and I didn't mind. That afternoon, she lightly brushed the back of her left hand against my right's as we walked. She inquired as to how I had liked her gifts, even though I had already told her via text. She pointed out pieces of art to me and threw her head back when she laughed that tinkling laugh that so few people ever get to hear.

 _You're beautiful,_ I told her and for a moment, she tucked at her Hermès scarf like a shy college girl. _I've never felt beautiful_ , she said and took a sharp breath afterwards, feeling exposed but fighting with herself not to take it back. I kissed her right cheek then and she blushed.

When she invited me to stay the night at her house for the first time, I brought the plum Kate Spade. I let it fall to the floor when she kissed me in the foyer. Later, I put my head between the junction of her legs, deliriously happy to be allowed. And later still, I thought of a poem that I had read while in college. _I bet you blush all over when you come._


	3. Chapter 3

My first Kate Spade was daisy white. It would be just like my mother to think that a white handbag was the perfect accessory to backpack through Europe with. Well, I will admit that I wasn't backpacking per se – as in putting everything I'd need into a backpack and taking trains and planes and ferries, my backpack always at my side. Why would anyone do that when there's suitcases on wheels that aren't heavy on your back, more organized and easier to bring onto said trains and planes and ferries? Because those I did take.

My mother did think that a white bag was perfect for such an endeavor because it went with everything but wasn't as boring as black. She was right, of course, but didn't seem to care about how easily it would get dirty on such a trip. Don't tell her I said that! Because it _was_ perfect in all the ways she thought it would be and I got more compliments for that tote than I did for all my miu miu dresses put together. Dresses that should have been stolen at the hostels I stayed at but miraculously weren't.

I know that Mom loved giving me that bag as much as I loved receiving it. It was one of all those little rituals that Mommy wished she had had as a child but never did. So she has always been meticulous about making sure that we got to experience all of them. Getting to listen to all the lullabies and goodnight stories in the history of children's literature and music. Having brunch together every Sunday as a family and taking a walk in the park afterwards. A special meal at the restaurant of our choice for every good grade and a surprise after every recital and game. Having hot chocolate and French fries in Mom's king size bed after we got our first periods, when she said _Bobbseys, you can ask me anything._

Then there were the things that only someone of her stature could do and she took pleasure in those, too. Watching every single Broadway play with us and inviting cast and crew over for dinner afterwards, after I told her I might want to be a theatre director. Dragging Andy and me along to gruesome lectures on the human body when Caroline said that she'd become a doctor. Caroline later decided on veterinary medicine, thank god and there were lectures on tigers, films about penguins and afternoons spent at the local animal shelter instead.

Anyhow, Kate Spade is a rite of passage. It means you're a grown-up girl and that's certainly what I felt like during my 6-month solo trip of Europe. Mommy and Andy must have been terrified for me but they still let me go. And I had the best time! I smoked pot for the first time, felt as if I had landed in a fairytale in Iceland, ate all the food in San Sebastian and got the first kiss that made my stomach burn in Stockholm, Kate Spade always by my side.

Katy got a kick out of all those stories when I told her one night. I think she loved hearing them because that's what she was about herself: being unapologetically girly and being a girl growing up and being a girl that never grows up. The one story I didn't tell Katy or Mommy or Andy was how I lost more than just my cell phone in Capri. With the girl from Stockholm.


	4. Chapter 4

My first Kate Spade was a cat. Well, a bag in the form of the cat. It was black with pale pink triangles for ears and golden whiskers. It was big enough for me to carry my books and notebooks in college and I loved its quirky specialness.

My mother gave me my first Kate Spade when she and Andy dropped me off at my college dorm the year after high school. It was a whole big production. Andy cried in the car while Mom drove us there, Mom cried when she gave me the bag and I cried as we said goodbye. Of course, it was kind of ridiculous considering I was only moving to the other end of Manhattan, whereas Cassidy was on the other side of the world at that exact moment. Eating goulash in Budapest or getting drunk on sangria in Barcelona, where that is perfectly legal at the age of 18, thank you very much.

Mommy left me with my bag and her lipstick all over my face, Andy with a year-long supply of notebooks and pens and a copy of _The Opposite of Loneliness._ Later, when my roommate Rebecca arrived, her gaze fell on my bag and she murmured _How am I ever gonna fit in here?_ beneath her breath. I offered her some of the almond milk _Whole Foods_ chocolate that Mommy had put in my bag to calm her nerves. It's true that I was also nervous about college but I had spent my whole life in Manhattan, so at least I was still kind of home.

 _Where are you from?_ I asked Rebecca. _Kansas._ I gave her a big smile. _The woman who made this bag is from Kansas as well, so I'm sure you'll fit right in!_ I said. It was the beginning of a great friendship and when Rebecca moved on to Yale Law School after 4 years with me at Columbia, I gave her an orange Kate Spade to remember me by.

For Priestly girls, the Kate Spade handbag is not only connected to family and friendship but also to sex. Well, not for Mom and Andy, I guess but for Cassidy and me. Cassidy's first time seems much more epic than mine: taking trains from Stockholm to Italy with the Swedish girl that she fell in love with up North, for a week or however long that takes. Then finally doing it with her on an island off the coast of Italy and all that. There's sand and salty water and bikinis that are easily taken off. There's the smell of sunscreen, wildflowers and lemon liqueur in the air. But I will tell you my story nonetheless.

I lost my virginity to my boyfriend Jordan when I was 21. I knew I was going to lose it to him one afternoon, when we hugged and he pressed into me and I felt incredibly warm. I could feel him and I wanted him so much. So me and my Kate Spade went out and I bought condoms and the pill. When it happened, I could feel my mint-green sheets beneath my skin and it felt like home.


End file.
